Will of the Many~ Poe Dameron

Forge

Serena sifted through her closet. Water dripped from the ends of her hair and trailed down her bare back. The towel drooped around her caught the water under her shoulders and absorbed them before they journeyed any further.

She had her pair of black pants picked out but she wasn't sure what top to wear along with it. She was tired from strenuous training. Her body craved something soft, which excluded most of her closet. She never realized how restricting her clothes were until her body became its own restraint.

Her fingers paused over cold silk of the creme top Poe had gifted her nearly a year ago. Somehow, on the luck of the stars above, the top had made it through a war and found itself tucked between a black turtleneck and charcoal gray long-sleeved shirt. It looked so perfectly out of place. She touched the wooden beads along the spaghetti straps and thought of the day she first saw it. She thought of the festival where she tried lemonade for the first time and laughed openly with Poe. Then, on the Millenium Falcon when he gifted it to her in their dormitory. He had given it to her with such tender care she knew it was a pivotal moment for them.

She always promised Poe she would wear it. Now, here she was nearly a year later and it had only ever left the hook to be shoved in a bag for travel. What a pity.

On an impulsive decision, she plucked it from the hangar and added it to her pile of clothes on the lower shelf.

She changed out of her towel and into the high-waisted black pants and silk top. The hem of the shirt barely reached the button of her pants. If she were to raise her arms her mid-drift would be exposed. But on the stars, the silk felt refreshing against her skin. The fabric resembled cool water lapping over her skin like gentle waves. As it warmed she hardly felt it against her. If not for the sway of the hem along her stomach she would feel irrevocably topless.

As shallow as it seemed, she moved into the bathroom to see her reflection in the new top. She stopped and glanced into the foggy mirror. With a single swipe of her hand she removed just enough fog to see the top blend into her skin. The cream color washed her out horribly and made every bit of pink on her call for attention.

The low boxed top and spaghetti straps let the entirety of her new scar glisten openly. She trailed the length of it over in the mirror, from the crater in her bicep to the deep gash slashed across her chest. It raised with an angry red that only heightened against the hue of the shirt.

It could have looked far more beautiful on someone else. Someone less scarred, less pale, less her. But it was unlike anything she had ever worn before, and for that reason, she felt beautiful in it.

She left the sanctity of the bathroom and walked to her bedside table where her lightsaber was waiting for her. The metal shaft gleamed in the light, calling out for her. She reached for it but before her fingertips grazed it, she paused.

She had already trained for the day and there was no chance of her going on a mission that would warrant a weapon. Why did she have to bring it along? Why clip it to her waist and wear it when she knew she wasn't going to use it? Sure, it was an extension of herself, a comfort that she liked to carry with her at all times. But if her fight with Kylo Ren taught her anything, it's that things of comfort can end.

Her hand dropped, and she stepped away from her nightstand without her trusted weapon.

She felt uneven. There was a gaping hole on her hip that only her lightsaber would fill. She desperately wished to hold it, to feel the cold metal along her palm and nestle the clip into the waistband of her pants. But that would have been easy. It would have been habit. She felt different after her near death. Maybe it was time to break some habits.